Mission: Red Room
by Zunurina
Summary: "Most are frightened. His eyes meet the red haired girl's. She is not." An MCU applicable version of one of the Winter Soldier's most memorable missions. Companion fic to Project: Fist. Possible pre-NatBucky if you put your glasses on.
1. Chapter 1

A/N

So this is actually a spin-off of my other work: "Project: Fist". You'll probably want to read up until chapter 7 for clarity or the upcoming chapter 8 for linear reasons. Otherwise you could be a little lost. But you can manage without. This was originally going to be chapter 8 or 9 of P:F but it got to the point where if I wanted to get even half of this stuff down it would end up taking at least two chapters and that just sort of deviates from the storyline and style of P:F so here we are.

* * *

This mission is different.

He knows it the moment he is defrosted and his lungs are pumped. He is put in the chair. The pain only subsiding along with the Words. When it's over, when he can breath; he receives a curt good morning from his Handler. It's a new one. He's young. A Colonel. He is well-trained but he has an imbalance in his right leg. An old wound. He's seen battle.

The Winter Soldier could kill him.

Easily.

Next to the Handler stands another man. He is older. Haughty. His hands are soft. He has thick glasses. The Winter Soldier could eliminate him too.

He doesn't.

He waits.

He is given no information. No target. He is guided out of the room. Into a large cage. Three men and one woman stand waiting for him. He waits for instructions. He does not understand. The Words were spoken. He gave his compliance. What is the mission? One of the men steps forward. His eyes are hard. He walks confidently. He is in peak condition. He has scars. He is a fighter. He is a killer.

The Winter Soldier watches. He waits for his mission.

Behind him, he hears his Handler speaking to the strange man.

"The Winter Soldier is trained to handle any form of attack. It can work both independently and by command. Every mission has been a success and it has shown a remarkable ability to adapt to and quickly learn new hand-to-hand combat styles."

The Soldier tenses. Now he understands. His mission is an exhibition. To show this new man –a new Handler?– that he is worth the time, effort, and money put into him.

He waits.

The five people, those meant to fight him, stare back. He gauges all of them. Each are in peak condition. They have few flaws. Nothing obvious.

They attack all at once.

The Soldier fends them off. Pushing them away. Blocking punches. Deflecting kicks. It is not easy. He doesn't consider punching back. He was not given permission.

Not yet.

The command comes in a strange voice. The voice of the soft Handler.

"Kill them Soldier."

He obliges.

* * *

He is taken away from the facility. When he finds out he is leaving, he expects to be packed away with the rest of the cargo. But they put him in a military chopper with his Handlers. The two men ignore him. Discussing something called the Weapon Plus Program. He is surrounded by guards and accompanied by a tutting scientist. No one will tell him where they are going.

He does not ask.

They arrive at a new facility. This one is above ground. His Handler, the Colonel tells the Soft Handler that it looks like a prison. The helicopter lands inside the wall and he is pushed off the transport before the other passengers. The helicopter leaves the moment everyone exits. He is hurried through a side door and does not see much other than fenced yards and concrete walls. He notices that the largest building, the one he is being led towards sits on the side of a hill. As though the bottom part of the hill had been carved out and built in. The inside is different. It looks more like a hospital. He is led to a lift. Here, his Handlers continue down the hall. He is prodded into the lift and sent down.

Five floors.

The lift opens to a long, brightly lit hallway. He is escorted down the passage. They pass an open doorway. The room is long and full of beds and cabinets. It has a military feel to it but there is something soft something feminine about it as well. There is another on the other side of the hall.

He is pushed to the farthest end of the hall, past the dorm rooms and past a few closed doors. Eighty-seven paces. The door on the furthest end is opened and he is beckoned through. The door is shut and locked behind him.

A bed, a cabinet, a small toilet area, and a small desk that holds a tray with a meager meal of щи and dark хлеб are the only furnishings in the small room. A change of gray clothing lies against the pillow along with sheets for the bare cot.

He knows how to care for himself. He does not have to do so very often but he knows how. He makes the bed and strips his clothes off. He washes in the basin before changing into the gray pants. His tactical gear is placed in the cabinet. He was only allowed one knife and it is placed on the desk next to the tray of food.

He sits on the bed and considers the small meal. Food has always been offered on one of three occasions. Either he has done something the merits a reward, they are testing his body against poisons, or he will not be frozen again for some time and therefore must have sustenance other than the intravenous nutrients given when he sleeps. He looks around. There is something about this room that screams permanence. As though he is supposed to be here for more than one night at least.

He eats the food.

* * *

щи - a beef and cabbage soup

хлеб - bread


	2. Chapter 2

It is two weeks before he is allowed to leave the room. Meals, clothes, and fresh sheets are brought too him daily. His new Handler, the soft one, has a woman come and trim back his long hair to his shoulders. The woman is terrified and nearly faints when she nicks his face while shaving off his growing beard.

Sometimes, at night, he can hear the pattering of bare feet on the concrete floor outside his room. He is certain he hears a soft laugh in the dark followed by a prompting to be quiet one night. But he sees no one but his guards, scientists, the scared woman and the Soft Handler. His Handler, the Colonel, has disappeared. The Soldier does not know if he will ever see him again.

This morning the Soft Handler is the one that opens his door and brings his meal. The Soft Handler watches him eat. Inspects the Soldier's cleaned appearance. Orders him to dress in his gear. He tuts at the almost healed scab from the night before. Finally, the Soft Handler leans against the wall.

"My name is Ivan Petrovich. Until further notice I will be your new Handler. Is that understood Soldier?" He says. The Soldier remains quiet. Handler Petrovich gives an annoyed sigh.

"You will answer me when I ask you something. Is that understood?" He snaps. The Soldier frowns. He is not supposed to speak. He is not supposed to answer. But he does not disobey so he nods his understanding.

He is escorted out of the room. Handler Petrovich is surprised when he hands over his knife. One of the guards explains the armed handler protocol. Handler Petrovich pockets the Soldier's weapon.

He is brought to the lift and sent five floors to ground level. He is pushed out of the lift and made to follow Handler Petrovich down the hall. He is led up a flight of stairs and his surroundings change. It is almost castle-like. He was right. The bottom part was built onto an older building. Perhaps what was once the home of a rich man.

He is prompted to follow his Handler down a large, richly furnished hall into a foyer. Stairs that lead up are to his left and to his right are large wooden doors standing open to let in the cold air.

It is not a good tactical decision.

Directly ahead is the bulk of the foyer, filled with statues and pillars. The ceiling is open, two stories high, and richly painted. A large crystal chandelier hangs. Windows cover the walls. The Winter Soldier cannot remember ever seeing anything so grand. So large.

So wasteful.

He is led across the foyer – twenty-seven paces – and enters double wooden doors. This room is smaller though no less lavish. It is long compared to the other and the wall directly across is one large window. The wall to his right is a mirror and the one to his left has a bar at waist height.

One woman stands in the middle of the room.

Handler Petrovich greets her. The Soldier stands back. Waiting for his orders. The past two weeks have been filled with eating, sleeping, and what little exercise he can obtain in the small space allotted to him. He craves direction. Orders.

He needs a mission.

The woman walks to him. Her stride is proud. Sure. She looks gentle. Harmless. But the Soldier knows her eyes. They are dangerous. This woman has killed.

He does not find this frightening. He feels nothing.

The woman grabs his chin, inspecting him. She orders him to his knees and runs her long red nails down his arm. The plates shift and hum in response. The servers telling him what her fingers feel like. She gives him a gun. Demands that he demonstrate his ability.

He does not miss his target.

* * *

He learns the woman is called Madame B. She has almost as much authority as Handler Petrovich. The Soldier prefers her over him.

They keep him locked in his room for another week before he is taken back to the mirror room. This time he has been ordered to wear not only his tac-vest but his muzzle as well. Five guards escort him into the room.

This time the room is occupied. Twenty-eight girls are lined up. They are performing a dance for Madame B and Handler Petrovich. The Soldier is pushed into the far corner. Out of the way. Out of sight. Perhaps this time he will be given a mission. His right hand twitches impatiently. His left whirs quietly.

He waits.

The girls are focused on their task. Their timing is perfect. Balance impeccable. Only one notices him. He knows she has noticed him when her perfect jump falters slightly. She catches herself easily. Her dance looks flawless. But the Soldier sees. He knows.

When the dance finishes Handler Petrovich applauds and fusses over the girls. He travels through them, caressing their hair, smiling at them. He pays special attention to the girl that noticed, gently petting her red hair while he scolds her for her mistake. Madame B scowls at the display. The Soldier waits.

By this time all of the girls have noticed his guard escort. The red haired girl is the only one that ignores them. Madame B takes control the moment Handler Petrovich is done. She berates them. Telling them their balance is sloppy, their focus insufficient. She tells them that they will never learn to fight. As the Soldier listens he begins to understand.

His mission.

He has been brought to this place to teach these girls, these children, to fight.

Others would describe him as relieved. Glad to finally have a purpose. A mission. He ignores these thoughts and steps forward when beckoned. Madame B tells the girls of his kill list. It is extensive. Most are frightened. His eyes meet the red haired girl's. Green.

She is not afraid.

* * *

A/N:

I'm author note happy. Mwahahaha! Get used to it.

So here's my apology. I know the last time I updated this was like a year and a half ago and holy schmackos I'm sorry. Life is a bastard. Didn't even leave me a basket of lemons for the trouble! You can go to my profile for details if you're a curious kitty.  
Anywho! Guess what?  
Mission: Red Room is actually completely finished. I have all the chapters written. They just need to sit for a few days before I go over them once before posting for y'all lovelies. That means, yup, you guessed... regular updates until finished! Provided my internet doesn't die and life doesn't grab my baton and start running away again.

Project: Fist (sister fic to M:RR) has 3-to-4 more chapters left. All of which are outlined and ready to be written. So look for updates there too.

Next chapter will be up soon!

Ta!


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